Solidarity movements have proven valuable in struggles for Aboriginal
rights, and in neocolonial liberation struggles across the world. Yet time
and again the same problems of paternalism and conflict over appropriate
support roles arise, fragmenting campaigns and creating confusion. The
problem is chronic. Aboriginal activist Gary Foley (1998) has discussed the
long history of "white hegemony over our political movement" and refers to
Ruth Frankenberg's (1993) argument for the need "to reconceptualise the way
in which white activists participate in anti-racist work". This suggests
there are important lessons to be learned about how such activism is
carried out. And while a range of views have been expressed about the often
complex relationships involved, in one sense we are simply talking about
the principles of good friendship.

In this paper I want to discuss some issues of solidarity activism in
relation to indigenous and neocolonial struggles. I'll look first at the
rising value of such civil solidarity, second at the question of identity
politics within solidarity movements, and finally at the educational
potential of solidarity activism. In the course of this discussion I will
be considering such questions as: What part of whose struggle do we own,
and where can we participate as full citizens? How do we identify rights
within legal constructs? and To what extent can we demand a right that is
not our own?

1. The rising value of civil solidarity

Solidarity activism within indigenous and neocolonial struggles is part of
broader solidarity activism, and of what has come to be called 'global
citizen action'. These particular forms of democratic agitation -
democratic politics outside formal representative structures - can occur
through "vertical alliances" (local, national, regional), or through
"horizontal networks and partnerships", and they may be linked to
"participatory forms of research .. analysis .. and learning" (Gaventa
2001: 281-3). However non-indigenous solidarity with indigenous people is
distinct from 'common self-interest' solidarity (what might be called a
'balanced horizontal network'), for example within a trade union.
Solidarity activism within indigenous and neocolonial struggles typically
represents an unbalanced horizontal network, where relatively wealthy
'white' activists are supporting indigenous or colonised peoples engaged
primarily in a struggle for self-determination.

This sort of activism is not defined by its tactics (eg. 'non violence', or
lobbying) but by its aim - helping friends who have been denied their
rights. It is generally focussed on a primary collective right, the right
of a people to self-determination, and on the effective enjoyment of that
right. These struggles generally make gains only in the long term and
involve cultural and institutional shifts - hence the limited relevance of
lobbying. However longer term campaigns, for example, developing the
concept of indigenous land rights, may include shorter term objectives,
such as blocking a uranium mine on indigenous land.

Internationally as well as domestically, solidarity politics has proven
itself effective, despite many obstacles. In the case of anti-apartheid and
independence struggles in South Africa and East Timor, international
solidarity movements seem to have played a greater role (supporting the
indigenous movements) than in previous decolonisations. Yet in both these
countries there have been significant accommodations with financial and
corporate interests, and struggles for economic self-determination persist
after political independence (Anderson 2002). The Palestinian struggle for
self-determination is informed by this, with some commentators arguing that
"solidarity can no longer be sidelined in the Palestinians struggle for
liberation. It must lie at the very heart" (Shukrallah 2002).

The struggles which solidarity movements support are those against formal
discrimination (eg. apartheid), but also those which address the gaps
between formal and effective rights (eg. the practical gap between
indigenous land rights, and the special privileges given to mining and
pastoral companies). Identifying such deficits contrasts with the liberal
inclusive view of rights, which tends to emphasise formal individual
rights, and to ignore social disparities. Liberalism in this sense is
inherently assimilationist and anti-collective, with damaging implications
for indigenous minorities. Economic liberals, for example, typically
attempt to reconstruct land rights as individual property rights, and to
posit 'reconciliation' as integration, as opposed to support for indigenous
people developing the means for collective self-determination.

Social liberals on the other hand (or at least those influenced by social
liberal values), may come to solidarity activism with a genuine desire to
assist indigenous peoples. However they also bring to the various campaigns
the ideological baggage of social liberalism - deference to the authority
of liberal institutions, an understanding of 'rights' determined by the
'rule of law', and 'sensible' middle class values. None of this would
matter that much if it did not at the same time undermine the necessary
corollaries of the principle of self-determination: autonomous development,
and indigenous leadership in indigenous affairs. Solidarity activism begins
to fall over when the articulate liberal values of white, middle class
solidarity activists rise to choke off this indigenous autonomy.

While support for the 'rule of law' can at times reinforce important values
(such as equality before the law), slavish deference to the 'rule of law',
in many areas of activism, is essentially a conservative force. Legal
rights (particularly in a system such as Australia's, with few formal
rights guarantees) often depart from the international consensus that is
human rights, and so cannot serve as a proper basis for defining the
tactics of 'rights activists'. For example, following the success of the
Aboriginal Tent Embassy in 1972, special laws were passed to ban
unauthorised tent settlements in the Australian Capital Territory.
Aboriginal activists used this as an example to ridicule the liberal
argument 'we don't mind if you protest, so long as you stay within the law'
(see Cavadini 1972).

2. Identity, solidarity and activism

Tilley (1998: 7) points out that political identities are always "relative
and collective", that they alter as networks, opportunities and strategies
shift, and that they are validated in practical settings, heavily
influenced by the reactions of other parties. In indigenous and neocolonial
struggles, where the primary goal is the self-determination of a people, it
is critical that solidarity activists reflect on their own political
identity, as friends, and allow the voice of indigenous people to rise and
make leading decisions. This includes making decisions which solidarity
activists believe to be tactically wrong.

Friends must be clear about their role as friends, and about their own
political identities. It can be tempting to imagine merging one's identity
with a friend, but in a struggle where distinct political identities are
involved, this can be a big mistake. In the self-determination struggle of
the Aboriginal minority in Australia, non-Aboriginal supporters can never
have a "full vote" in the decision making processes of that struggle - for
what should be obvious reasons. Supporters can advise and argue, where
there is a relationship of trust, but a close relationship should not lead
supporters to imagine that it is appropriate for them to have an equal
voice, or to make leading decisions. In an indigenous struggle for
self-determination, indigenous voices must not only be heard, but must be
supported in taking the leading role. In any case, indigenous people will
have to live with the consequences of such decisions, and non-indigenous
supporters are generally far more able to walk away from these consequences.

So the decision on what tactics to pursue in protest actions must be made
by those in whose name the action takes place, the decision whether or how
impose sanctions or boycotts on governments and companies must be made by
the communities directly affected, and the decisions over critical
interventions in the internal politics of indigenous peoples, must be made
by indigenous peoples. Supporters may decide which indigenous people or
which groups they trust, but having made that decision, they must take a
'back seat'.

Is this disempowering for solidarity activists? Not necessarily. A
supportive role can help us reflect on and accept our own collective
identity, and draw strength from that. The powerful and attractive force of
identity politics in self-determination struggles should encourage us to
locate and feel secure about who we are, rather than pretend that we have
lost ourselves in the identity of our indigenous friends. Knowing who we
are and where we come from should enable us to better draw on our own
physical and moral resources, and make us more confident and better
friends. Further, indigenous people who are intensely focussed on where
they come from, are more likely to respect and befriend supporters who are
clear and open about where they come from.

It's worth stressing these points, because some solidarity activists engage
in the struggle of 'others', as part of a process of losing themselves.
They may bring a burst of energy to a campaign, or a movement, but often
also a burst of confusion. They often retreat as quickly as they arrived,
sometimes having damaged relationships and campaigns. A highly talented (or
at least highly confident) solidarity activist, arriving at a campaign
without a clear sense of his or her own identity, is likely to dominate and
engender paternalism. Gary Foley (1999) writes of the repeated problems of
patronising attitudes and paternalism, amongst white solidarity activists
who support Aboriginal struggles. But he also writes of the principles for
"successful cooperative action ... between Koori [south-eastern Aboriginal]
community activists and non-Koori supporters", which have also been in
evidence in some local campaigns, but also at least since the 1972
Aboriginal Tent Embassy. Solidarity activists there "did not seek a say in
how the protest was run .. [and] were more aware of the need for Koori
people to be determining their own destiny politically, and they were
prepared to stand with Koori activists when the crunch came". Foley urges
non-Koori supporters to make sure that they join a group that "genuinely
supports Koori control of Koori affairs and is in some way affiliated with,
or taking guidance from, the local Koori traditional owners and/or local
Koori community." (Foley 1999)

Theorists have struggled to define principles of solidarity, discussing
combinations of rights and procedures, justice and democracy, reciprocity
and autonomy and so on (eg. James 2002: 3-18) . But in most respects the
appropriate principles are those of good friendship: involving mutual
respect, knowing and recognising who you are, speaking for yourself and
supporting your friends' decisions in their own life and self-determination
decisions.

3. The Educational Potential of Solidarity Activism

There are a number of educational benefits to participating in solidarity
activism. These could be summed up as lessons in self-awareness, rights
analysis, practical social democracy and basic good human relations.

To the extent that the intense indigenous focus on identity helps
non-indigenous solidarity activists engage in their own processes of
self-discovery, this can be a rewarding educational experience. Reflecting
on and understanding who we are, where we come from and why we are engaged
in such activity can be instructive. Understanding separate but supportive
identities, and mutual respect, is an important practical lesson.

Participation in campaigns of civil solidarity can also be a valuable
educational experience, in developing an understanding of the relationships
between formal and effective rights, and how effective rights are nurtured.
Working outside the boundaries of formal, institutional democracy - and
through long term campaigns which combine cultural and institutional
change, as well as lobbying and conventional politics - helps broaden our
understanding of practical social democracy.

The practical lessons in politics through resistance are also generally
more profound than engagement in conventional politics. Involvement in
broad, brain-storming campaigns and creative demonstrations is certainly a
more memorable and usually a more valuable learning experience than letter
writing and classroom lectures or discussions. And involvement in
indigenous forms of organisation can also be an important cross-cultural
learning experience. Indigenous people often develop more intimate, direct
and practical social patterns, and more freely mix personal with political
relations. Solidarity with the Mexican Zapatistas has been argued to be a
"two-way learning process", with northern groups gaining insights into real
democracy (Dominick 1999).

Finally, working with indigenous peoples and in cross-cultural groups can
deepen our understanding of good friendship, and the relationships between
personal and political relationships. Not that every personal relationship
must be politicised, but rather that political relationships involve
people, and often the very basic needs and aspirations of people, rather
than formal and neat processes which can be partitioned off from the rest
of our lives.

Bibliography

Anderson, Tim (2002) 'Self-determination after Independence: East Timor and the World Bank', Paper at Islands of the World VII Conference, University
of Prince Edward Island, Canada, June - online at http://members.ozemail.com.au/~timand/et/aw-et.htm